Steven Saylor - Wrath of the Furies

At least I had received something from Cassius in return. First, he promised to assist me financially, via Samson, in case I ran short of funds in Ephesus; second, he and the others had shared with me what they knew about the king and his court, especially Queen Monime, of whom Antipater had seemed especially fearful in the passage from his journal. Their intelligence was scant, derived largely from rumor, but I was glad for any bits of information they could give me.

Just before I left the house of Posidonius, in the predawn hour as I made ready to head back to the Phoenix, Cassius appeared at my door, slipped into my room, and made me repeat back to him all the orders he had given me the night before. Satisfied, he gave me a curt nod and left the room. His place was taken by my host, who yawned-unused to being up at such an hour-and wished Bethesda and me a safe voyage. As he escorted us to the vestibule, Posidonius gave a grunt.

“Ah, yes, I just remembered-there’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask you. If I understand correctly, Gordianus, you actually made the acquaintance of the king of Egypt-the recently deposed king, I mean-shortly before he fled from Alexandria.”

“I saw him in the flesh, and we spoke, if that’s what you mean.”

“Yes, that’s precisely what I mean: You have seen with your own eyes this fellow in the flesh. Tell me-is he really as incredibly fat as rumor makes him out to be?”

I had been expecting a weightier question. Surprised, I laughed aloud. “I’ve never seen a fatter man in my life.”

“They say-well, this is rather indelicate … but they say-oh, now how can I put this…?”

I laughed again, anticipating his question. “Yes, I’ve heard the story, as has everyone in Alexandria. The man is so fat, he can’t take a piss or a shit without servants to help him. He has to be hoisted on and off the latrina, and his arms are too short to aim his manhood in front or wipe himself behind, so others have to do it for him. That vulgar rumor was memorably enacted in a rather rude mime show I saw in Alexandria. But I myself never saw the king tend to his bodily functions, so I can’t affirm that it’s true.”

Posidonius nodded thoughtfully. “They also say that when he’s in his cups, he can dance and jump on tables and cavort with the best of them.”

“That also I never saw. But yes, that’s what the Alexandrian gossips say.”

“Ah, yes, I see.” Posidonius produced a stylus and wax tablet and began scribbling notes. He was famous for recording the habits of Gauls and Celts and other exotic folk he had observed in his travels. Did he intend to record the appearance and behavior of King Ptolemy for posterity? Such gossip hardly seemed the kind of thing that would be of use to some future historian.

* * *

Because we came from Rhodes, everyone disembarking at Ephesus from the Phoenix was herded by port officials into a special queue for passengers arriving from “unfriendly” ports. After an hour or so of waiting in line on the wharf, my turn at last arrived to pass through the city gates. As it turned out, I was not exposed as a Roman spy. Nor was I allowed to simply enter the city, as I had hoped. As so often happens, there was a third possibility that I could not have foreseen.

Before we left Alexandria, the eunuchs and Bethesda and I had rehearsed the scene of my arrival, employing several different scenarios. Kettel and Berynus played the Ephesian entry officials, asking all the many questions that might come up. I had been made to maintain complete silence, while Bethesda had been coached to answer as simply and briefly as she could. (“And if the snooty bureaucrat seems even the least bit susceptible to your charms, my dear, do not hesitate to use them,” Kettel had advised her, putting his hands on his hips and batting his eyelashes to demonstrate, at which an unamused Bethesda returned an unblinking sphinxlike stare that was infinitely more provocative.)

As it turned out, the eunuchs had done an excellent job of anticipating the kinds of questions we would be asked, and all the various reactions our answers might elicit-all except one.

Things seemed to be going very well, I thought. The official was a young man, decidedly not a eunuch to judge by his neatly trimmed beard. As he looked over my travel documents, his manner was brisk and efficient, but not unfeeling. He seemed mildly susceptible to Bethesda’s charms, and not unsympathetic with the plight of a man in the prime of youth struck dumb and desperately in search of a cure.

“Do you have a place to stay in the city?” he asked.

“The last time my master was in Ephesus,” answered Bethesda, “he stayed with a man called Eutropius, who lives up the hill, near the theater.”

“Not a cheap neighborhood. This Eutropius must be a man of means.”

Bethesda turned to me. I nodded vigorously, and she replied, “Oh, yes, Eutropius is a man of considerable means.”

The young bureaucrat cast a skeptical glance at my clothes, obviously wondering what relationship might exist between a man as humble as me and a rich Ephesian.

Bethesda, too, noticed his skepticism. “I believe my master and this Eutropius met through a mutual friend, a traveling tutor by the name of Zoticus. Zoticus of Zeugma-perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

The young man seemed amused. No one famous ever came from Zeugma. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh, he’s quite widely known,” said Bethesda with a sly smile. “He writes poetry, too. My master would recite some lines of it for you, I’m sure, except that … well, as I explained … my master is dumb.”

I bit my tongue and resisted the urge to give her a kick. Giving complete answers was one thing. Spinning needless elaborations was another.

“Dumb, did she say?” Another functionary suddenly appeared-this one a eunuch, to judge by the softness of his downy jowls. He was more senior than the official who had been questioning us, to judge by the ostentatious headdress he wore, a kind of turban from which dangled a great many gewgaws made of cheap metal and colored glass.

The younger official nodded. “Yes, sir. He’s an Alexandrian come to seek healing at the Temple of Artemis. I explained that he’d be lucky to get in, with that mob of Romans cramming themselves inside, seeking sanctuary-”

“And mute?” said the older man, giving me a hard look.

“So he says. Or rather, so his slave says-”

“Can’t say a word?” The eunuch kept staring at me until I nodded. He snatched my documents from the younger man and gave them a cursory glance. “Well, then-Agathon of Alexandria-this is your lucky day.” He swatted his underling with the documents. “Did you forget, Terpsicles, that we’re to be on the lookout for specimens exactly such as this one?”

Terpsicles grimaced to acknowledge some oversight. I frowned, not liking the sound of that word: specimens .

“Follow me, Agathon of Alexandria,” said the eunuch.

Bethesda shot me a questioning glance. I shrugged.

“Is there some problem?” she asked.

“No problem at all,” the eunuch called over his shoulder. “Did you not hear me? Not deaf as well, are you? Follow me!”

“Follow you where ?” insisted Bethesda.

“To the royal palace.”

“Royal … palace?” Bethesda wrinkled her brow. So did I.

“Yes. You know, the big building where the king stays when he’s in residence. You have one of those in Alexandria, don’t you?” He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “What a pair the two of you make. A mute master and a simple slave!”

Bethesda’s expression turned stormy. She opened her mouth, but I silenced her with a jab from my elbow. I took her by the arm and pulled her after me.